


nothing and everything all at once

by chaosy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosy/pseuds/chaosy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen, and that's not even the weed talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing and everything all at once

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgent nonsense. completely. i need to write more sterek tbh.  
> say hi and give requests at martinisms.tumblr.com :)

"It’s hot."

Derek looks at him and arches an eyebrow.

"I had no idea," he says. There are two fans facing them. They’re sprawled on the couch, Derek’s head in his lap whilst Stiles absently drifts his fingers through his hair. It’s too hot for anything but boxers.

"You’re supposed to say that the heatwave isn’t as hot as me," Stiles tells him.

Derek hums, stretches like a cat. “Then I would be lying.”

“ _Rude_.”

Thing is, Beacon Hills isn’t a particularly hot place. They have a lot of trees and they’re pretty far up north so they avoid the worst of the summer fire.

Not this year, apparently.

Stiles has been spending most of the summer at Derek’s place. It’s the coolest, figuratively and literally. The high ceilings and big windows mean that it’s slightly less of a raging inferno than Stiles’s place.

It’s just so fucking  _ hot _ .

They don’t even have sex, because that requires moving, and every time Stiles moves the sweat starts pouring off of him and Derek complains.

“‘M bored,” he mumbles, poking Derek’s leg with his foot. “Fix it.”

"No," Derek mumbles back.

Stiles whines petulantly. “C’mon,” he says, sinking further against the cushions and scratching the sweat-damp hair at Derek’s scalp. Derek purrs. It’s a little unnerving. “Wanna do something.”

Derek just grunts and nudges his hand for more petting. “D’you wanna fuck?” he asks, his words a slur.

Stiles groans and shakes his head, and then nods it. “No. Yes.  _ No.  _ I’m not moving,” he tells him. Derek turns his head and pushes it against his stomach.

"Then I’m not doing anything," he says.

Stiles kicks him.

Derek doesn’t even kick him back. That’s how hot it is.

They lie like that for a while in a heat-addled stupor. Stiles pets Derek’s hair. Derek occasionally kisses his stomach. It’s kind of cute.

This— this  _ thing _  they’ve got, he’s not quite sure what it is. He got back from college and Derek had him over for lunch and that sort of accidentally progressed to fucking over every surface in the loft.

Cut to two months later to the worst heatwave of Stiles’s life and he figures they’re pretty good.

They manage to move to the bed when the sun starts setting, late in the evening. The move the fans but it’s still too fucking hot. Stiles flops onto his stomach and lets his head hang over the side of the bed.

"Bloodrush," Derek mutters.

"Mm?"

"Don’t know."

"Okay."

Conversation is hard when everything is so sticky.

Stiles’s eyes catch onto a little plastic bag under Derek’s bed and he tugs it out. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Best case scenario; it’s a vibrator and Derek is wholly enthusiastic about Stiles using it on him. Worst case scenario; it’s a human head that Derek’s named Yorick and he talks to him whilst Stiles isn’t there.

To be honest, that would be kind of cool.

It’s neither. It’s full of weed.

"Why do you have weed?" Stiles asks, rolling onto his back and resting his head against Derek’s back.

Derek makes a questioning noise. Stiles rustles the bag at him.

"Weed. Here.  _ Weed _ . Explain.”

"My boyfriend is a caveman," Derek mumbles. Stiles feels a little thrill at being called  _ boyfriend  _ but doesn’t say anything.

Derek turns a little and takes the bag from him. “I confiscated it from Scott,” he explains. “It’s got some kind of wolfsbane or something, lets us get high,” he says.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You confiscated it. From your  _ alpha _ .”

Derek gives a wriggle of his shoulders that Stiles assumes is a shrug. “He’s got exams soon. He needs to focus.”

"From your  _ alpha _ , Derek.”

Derek grunts at him.

Stiles has come to understand that the less verbal Derek is, the less pleased he is with the conversation.

"You wanna light up?" he asks, after a few minutes.

"Yeah."

Conversation is back on track, ladies and gentlemen.

It’s getting dark now. The loft is shadowed in soft blues and purples. Derek sits up, sags against the cushions and rolls up a joint with one hand whilst searching in his drawer with the other for a lighter.

As a college student, Stiles is considerably impressed.

He also doesn’t deny that Derek looks supremely hot flicking a lighter on whilst holding a joint.

Derek gives it to him to take the first drag, which Stiles thinks is kind of sweet. It’s a slightly different feeling to regular weed, but it’s just as good. Better, really, considering how close Derek is to him.

Derek takes the blunt from him and takes a drag once Stiles is done, letting his head fall back as he breathes out.

The smoke curls up into the air from his mouth. Stiles suddenly can’t stop staring. The lines of Derek’s neck are sharp and he looks soft, relaxed. Stiles wants to suck his cock.

He doesn’t. Instead, he inhales, taps Derek’s shoulder to make him come closer, and exhales against his mouth.

Derek’s eyes flutter closed like butterfly wings and he smiles a little, that sleepy smirk he wears when Stiles is doing something he likes. Stiles hums in the back of his throat.

When Derek sucks in from his drag, he cups Stiles’s face, breathes out into  _ his  _ mouth. Stiles takes it happily, inhaling, his own hands spreading on Derek’s shoulders.

"You’re cute," Derek tells him softly. Stiles laughs. It’s oddly hilarious that Derek still finds him cute when Stiles has said the  _ dirtiest  _ stuff to him when he’s fucking him. It’s kind of endearing, to be honest.

“ _You’re_ cute,” he mumbles back. Derek presses a smoky kiss against his mouth, eases him back against the pillows.

They finish the joint. Derek is kissing him the moment he stubs it out. He nudges at Stiles until he's flattened against the sheets, staring up at him. Stiles feels stupid, like his brain is stuffed with smoke.

He pushes his fingers into Derek's cheeks and laughs, the sound high and alien in his throat, his legs settling on either side of him. Derek makes a pleased mumbling noise that Stiles just finds funnier.

“Look-t you,” he says, as he uses his fingers to press Derek's cheeks into a smile. It's fucking hilarious.

Derek turns his head and bites at his fingers. “Shit,” he calls him.

“Dick,” Stiles replies mildly.

Derek carries on nipping at his fingers like some overgrown dog. Man-dog. Dog-man, the latest canine superhero, a ruff new film about an unfortunate metamorphosis guaranteed to drive you barking and send you home with your tail between your legs.

Stiles is laughing so hard that Derek has to pin him to stop him from tumbling off the bed.

“What's funny?” Derek asks, and he's sniffing at him, which only makes Stiles laugh harder.

“ _Dog man_ ,” he wheezes. Derek blinks at him.

Stiles appreciates that he lets him cry with laughter for a little while until he's biting at his neck, muttering for him to “quit it, Stiles, wanna fuck.”

He's sweet, Derek, but he's not the most romantic rose in the bunch.

Stiles drags him in anyway, kisses him messily, licks the taste of smoke out of his mouth. He almost wants to light up again but this is so much better, the most insane kind of high and it doesn't come from a plant. It comes from _Derek_.

He slides his hands into his hair, breathes out a shuddering breath and rolls his hips up. Derek hums against his mouth and ducks his head to kiss a wet path down Stiles's throat. It's hot and a clumsy and easy, in this perfect rush, and Stiles exhales softly and lets his head fall back.

He really fucking likes this guy, doesn't he?

His fingers pull in Derek's hair because that always makes Derek moan, and he does it again until Derek _whines_ , this shocked, vulnerable noise that shocks Stiles to his core.

It's easy to roll him over, then. He pushes Derek onto his back, slips between his legs and the first brush of their cocks is more electricity than relief. Stiles bites Derek's throat.

He's always been such a sucker for every damn sound that Derek makes in bed. There are the soft, broken gasps that harmonise with his own pleading moans. Sometimes Derek talks, which is astounding. He'll groan filth into Stiles's ear as his hands press against him, everywhere, and Stiles will feel like his body is going into supernova mode.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, after a few moments, as he grinds down against him. “Stiles,” he whispers again.

Stiles slips a hand up underneath his balls, cupping him, just teasing him because he loves how flushed Derek gets when he's teased. “'M here,” he tells him. He feels like an idiot because of _course_ he's here. He's always going to be here.

He's still giddy from the high. His motions are clumsy and every kiss lands in a new place, slick and stupid. It's the best he's ever felt. He surges forwards and forces Derek into a deeper kiss, harsher, their teeth clicking as he pushes his thigh between his legs and grinds up against him like a fucking teenager. He strokes a finger around his balls before finding his hole and pressing the tip in. They have lube, somewhere, but Stiles is too lazy to go look for it, so he settles for the feeling of Derek gasping hoarsely against his neck as he teases him with his finger.

Eventually, of course, Derek gets needy, starts whining and pushing against him and going _please, please, I--_ and Stiles licks his throat and gropes around in the nightstand.

The lube is almost empty. Stiles is kind of proud of himself.

He empties almost all of it onto his fingers. Derek has a high pain threshhold and Stiles could probably fuck him dry if he wanted to, but he won't. He hates hurting Derek even though Derek says _shut up, Stiles, I can take it_. He knows Derek can handle pain. Doesn't change the fact that Stiles doesn't _want_ him to have to handle any pain, any at all.

Derek isn't loose, exactly, but he's not so tight that it'd take ages to prep him. Stiles fucked him around four in the morning, and it's seven at night now. His ass isn't magical despite what Stiles says.

He fingers him slowly because Derek is always such a fucking mess from it. He lies there, his cock leaking a little on his stomach, his mouth slightly parted and his chest heaving. Stiles bites at his collarbone. Derek whines and he smirks. “Yeah?” he whispers, adding a second finger, twisting them in deeper. Derek gets a little louder. “You like that, huh?” he breathes.

Derek doesn't reply. It's okay, though. Stiles gets what he's trying to say from all the moaning.

Even when Derek starts going _c'mon, I'm ready, hurry up_ Stiles still doesn't slide in. He waits. He makes tiny scissoring motions with his fingers until Derek cries out. After a couple of minutes, he slips down, pressing his tongue against his hole where his fingers are easing in.

Derek is a mess. “Please,” he gasps out quietly. “Please, Stiles, just--”

Fuck, Stiles loves how _eager_ he is, how much he _wants_ this. Wants _him_.

He doesn't give it to him, though. Derek is so gorgeous when he's panting and flushed and Stiles has to wait for a little while longer. Derek tightens up around his fingers and Stiles laps his tongue over the skin until he's a little looser, wetter. He runs his tongue in clumsy swipes over his ass until he can drag himself up again because he can't, okay, because Stiles has restraint but he can't take any more and he _really_ needs to fuck Derek right now. _Right_ now.

The first slow push of his cock is always the agonising best. Derek goes quiet, for once, gasps quietly and lifts up a little as Stiles slides in. They use condoms, although Stiles wonders how Derek would feel without them sometimes.

He ducks his head and bites his neck again as he snaps his hips up. Derek shivers.

“So good,” he mumbles, and it's so hot, even with the evening breeze and the fans. He's sweating already. His hair is sticking to his head and Stiles is pretty sure he'll murder the first person to interrupt them.

After a few minutes they adjust to each other, relearn the tension in each other's shoulders and the sensitivity of the backs of their knees. They know, and Stiles moves, fucks his hips up and Derek's reaction is better than any work of art. A moan punches out of him and his head falls back and he lifts his hips up, his knees bending on the bed. Stiles works a bruise into his neck just so he can see it flare, fade.

He goes slow until he doesn't; he's rocking his hips up on a slightly experimental angle when Derek goes still and _keens_. Stiles goes a whole lot faster after that.

He braces one hand on the headboard above them and presses his face against Derek's neck, his shoulders shaking a little as he breaths in. The air feels like a ragged knife in his throat. He can't get over how fucking _tight_ Derek is, how responsive he is under his hands. Stiles is so in love. He's in love. He doesn't care.

He's not aware that he's saying this out loud until Derek moans louder and says, “Love you too, love you too, baby, _c'mon_ , please, just--”

Stiles does.

He fucks into Derek as hard as he can, the groans forced out of him and squeezing his lungs and the moment his arms start to shake Derek just rolls them right on over, pins Stiles by the wrists and rolls his hips down. He grins down onto his cock, fucking himself with it, using it like a toy. It's the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen, and that's not even the weed talking.

Oddly, it's the squeeze of Derek's hands on his wrist that send him over the edge. The millimetre of space between his nails and Stiles's veins coupled with the contractions around his cock tip him over. There's a burst of colour and a cloud of black and Stiles sinks into some sticky-sweet pleasure, his head tipped back, gasping quietly.

Derek follows pretty quick. Stiles is just about conscious enough to jerk him off and the clench is _gorgeous_ , perfect around his cock. Derek whines like a dog and curls over his body as he makes a mess of his stomach.

He's beautiful and Stiles loves him.

Slowly, they come down. Derek breathes out for a little while and pulls himself slowly off of his cock, sinking down on the bed next to Stiles and not even bothering to clean up.

Lazy ass. “Lazy ass.”

Derek yawns. “Mhm. You do it.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

That's that.

Stiles strokes his stomach fondly and drags Derek in close, lies on top of the covers. The come will be a bitch to clean off in the morning but he doesn't care.

“Night,” Derek mumbles, kisses his neck and lets his head drop onto Stiles's chest. Stiles pets his hair. “Love you.”

Stiles feels something grow between them, warm and bright. “Love you too.”

 


End file.
